


we took romance for a joyride (hope it doesn't ruin our friendship)

by salvadore



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, F/M, Implied Relationships, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Relationship, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box, Under negotiated polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-05 01:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: Hawke returns to Kirkwall not as the Champion, but as a friend of the Viscount.





	we took romance for a joyride (hope it doesn't ruin our friendship)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/gifts).



"When they told me this is where I'd find you, I'd half expected it to be a joke."

Varric startles, and snaps his head up toward the unexpected interruption. "Maker's breath, Hawke," Varric curses. He hadn't even heard the door to his office open.

"Did I surprise you?" She asks, and she's grinning. And Varric thinks he pulled something in his neck turning so fast to look at her. But that's okay. The pain might be a good thing. It means this isn't a dream. She really is standing in the doorway of his office, hair pulled back to reveal a nasty shiner across her left cheek. The purpling of a bruise does nothing to dampen the shine in her eyes - it never has. And Varric can almost feel time rewinding because there’s something so immediately nostalgic about the look she’s giving him. It’s the one that always spelled trouble.

"How did you sneak back into the city?” Varric asks, and if there’s a breathless wonder to his voice, Hawke doesn’t tease him about it.

“I found throwing the Viscount’s name around Kirkwall does far more for me now than being the Champion ever did.”

Varric groans. He can already hear Bran’s lecture now. Once the rumors hit his office, he’ll likely try to serve Varric resignation papers for his position of seneschal. And Varric has no idea what sort of precedent that would set.

“Hawke.”

“You’re happy to see me, right?” She’s laughing, but she has the good sense to finally step into his office and close the door behind her.

Hawke’s smile, and her voice turns soft and, if Varric dares to hope, sincere when she says, “I’ve missed you, Varric.”

“I don’t know how you had the time to miss me. What with all the world-saving and demons around to keep you occupied.”

“Does that mean the Inquisitor kept you too busy to miss me?” Hawke comes around to his side of the desk, perching on it as she jokes, “Lucky for a certain dwarf, they gave me more pleasant things to think about while I was out in the worst of it. Pleasant things to _miss._ ”

Varric thanks Andraste that Hawke is still terrible at flirting. And winking. Which she tries to do, going heavy on the innuendo. So many things have changed, he is comforted that this hasn't.

Hawke is wearing something more suited to their early days in Kirkwall. Gone is the heavy armor that had braced her arms and shoulders when she’d arrived at Skyhold. She’s put aside the gauntlets for a softer sort of fingerless glove. If she were to reach out, Varric would be able to feel her skin on his.

It reminds him of the night after they went into the Fade. When Varric had been furious with her for even thinking of staying behind. When the catalyst of years of what should’ve been harmless flirting, and too many near death experiences finally caught up to them. And they’d come together with too much eagerness, and too much adrenaline. Armour had hit the old stone floors too loudly.

Skyhold’s abandoned rooms could be freezing, but they hadn’t had the forethought to light a fire. Stopping to light one had been less important than reassuring himself that he hadn’t lost her.

Here and now, Hawke doesn’t reach out to touch him when they're in reach. There's still the same tension that dogged them at Skyhold. But she keeps her hands causally on his desk. And he’s thankful. His heart is hammering just at the memory of the last time she'd reached out to touch him in private. She’d tilted his chin up, after. And it had been almost too much to look up at her when she was sweaty and yet still somehow radiant. He thinks he might combust if she touches him now.

“How’s Fenris?” Varric asks. He coughs, hits his fist against his chest like he can knock it’s beating back into a less lovesick rhythm.

“Still disappointed with me for almost dying,” Hawke says. “Even though it was ages ago.”

“Well, you know Fenris. He’s good for a grudge. And brooding. I’m assuming that hasn’t changed.”

“I left him skulking Hightown to see if his old mansion has survived,” Hawke replies. Which is confirmation enough.

“I can set you two up in Hightown, Hawke. You don’t have to stay there.”

Hawke shrugs. “It’s fine. He likes it. I’ll just get someone in to dust it this time.”

She kicks her heel against his desk. “How’s Bianca?”

Varric knows she doesn’t mean his crossbow, but where does he begin. How does he explain that mess in the Deep Roads? He hedges. “I’m a very busy man, Hawke. What with all the reconstruction, and diplomacy, and years of backstabbing I am now responsible for.”

Hawke laughs. It almost clears the air, and if Varric stares a little more longingly than he once might, well then it’s just something he’ll have to work on. For right now, he sits back in his chair and smiles back, watching the way she still tips her whole head back to laugh.

They talk about years ago, and how unbelievable it is that the nobility of Kirkwall would want him for Viscount. They trade blame for the misadventures that caused property damage.

Then Hawke’s go soft during a lull in banter. And she says, “You didn’t answer my question, Varric.”

“Hawke.” He rubs a hand over his chest, fingers scratching at the hair. He finds looking at her suddenly difficult.

“Fenris has missed you too,” she says. “He remarked that he hasn’t had a good game of Wicked Grace since the party split.”

“You’d think he would be tired of losing his pants to me,” Varric says. He tries at humor. He hopes that if he keeps it light they won’t go down this road.

“I think that was half the fun,” Hawke says. Then, “Varric. Look at me.”

There are fingers lightly on his shoulder, tugging at the edges of his coat. When he looks into Hawke’s eyes he sees that same seriousness that haunted her on the battlements at Skyhold. But she’s smiling a little. Even if it’s a little sad, and just as worn as Varric feels. It's something. A small sign that they're coming out of the world-ending, sense of nihilism that has dogged them since the Arishok.  

“Do you know why I came back? I’m tired of running from crisis to crisis and sorting out everyone else’s problems. The Wardens can fix their own damn mistakes. The Winter Palace can start picking up the slack.” Hawke’s hand cup his cheek and that smile looks a little happier when she says, “Aveline is here, you’re here. This is where I want to be.”

Varric feels like a character in one of his romance serials. Lovesick enough that he worries his might be blushing.The cynical side of him wants to point out how useless the Empress and the Divine had been before Anders went and had the bright idea of kickstarting the rebellion. But then, Kirkwall needs all the hands and help it can get. And isn't that why he's here? Letting people force titles like Viscount on him? Who is he to say Hawke can't be here doing the same. He’s been running away from that night at Skyhold for fear that Hawke would say it was a mistake. 

But Hawke’s here,now, running her finger across his cheek. She looks as sappy as he imagines he does. And Varric knows better than anyone that only cataclysim and her own wills motivate her.

Maybe he’s getting old and tired of losing people. Or maybe he's doing what he's always done. Followed Hawke's lead even on her worst ideas. 

Hawke says, “Come over tonight. You and Fenris can get drunk, and we’ll see if you can synchronize your lectures about how I don’t care enough about my own safety.”

Varric covers her hand with his own, lets himself lean fully into her touch. It's hard to get the words out past the thundering that's begun anew in his chest. But he takes a deep breath and tries.

“Aright, Hawke," Varric says. "I've followed you into dragons dens, and chasing after apostates. I think I can handle a night of Wicked Grace."

**Author's Note:**

> Not to be a pop-punk band from 2005 with that title length, but here we are. Inspired by this _a softer world_ [it wasn't that bad, really](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=14) because, again, I'm hitting you with those mid 00s feel. 
> 
> Please be aware of the tags. I didn't want to spoil anything or confirm a romance route for Hawke, but I figured if I didn't put some of the intent in the tags it could be misconstrued as cheating? So bear that in mind. 
> 
> Happy Halloween, tuesday! Thank you so much for the opportunity to write Fem!Hawke/Varric!


End file.
